


The Reason to Exist

by JanitorBot



Series: Canon-Compliants [2]
Category: Rockman X | Mega Man X, Rockman | Mega Man - All Media Types
Genre: Baby Hunter days lol, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Combatdroid Culture and Study, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-06-06 03:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15185759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanitorBot/pseuds/JanitorBot
Summary: Zero may have amnesia but he doesn't necessarily need his memories to know what his place is in this world. A weapon only has one function. As long as he can carry out that directive he's satisfied.Then X came and threw that into the bolts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm seriously writing a fanfic to figure out how to write another fanfic, oh boy, this is my life now.

Zero learns that he doesn’t need the same amount of recharge time as other reploids do to achieve the same rested effect. Zero’s sophisticated proximity sensors along with his hyper-vigilance causes him to be more awake than asleep these days. Not that he needs much sleep considering how carefully he filters information to require shorter recharges.

Compare to any other Hunter, Zero volunteers the late night patrols the most. However, he’s always restricted to patrols that includes a Unit Leader or a second-in-command and even then he’s constantly ordered to not actively participate. One would think that after a month and a half of good behavior the Hunters would let up the strict supervision.   

This time Zero is with Fifth Unit Troop B, charged by Unit Vice Leader Big Fly. Zero has observed that Big Fly, despite being half the size of the average reploid, can swap arms for stingers and can hold his own in battle. Big Fly’s abdomen carries tiny, customized mechaniloids that specialize in recon and swarm attacks. Therefore, Big Fly is effective against one-to-one, or enormous and slow mechs with lots of blind spots.

He’s not effective against big numbers like this one. 

A spontaneous Maverick attack: a group of fifteen labor bots marching down the streets led by a heavy duty construction unit, interrupting the flow of traffic and forcing cars to skid around it at the last second. There’s some degree of organization but that’s it. The other reploids are rushing around, smashing cars, breaking street windows. Six of them have taken down street signs as awkward, makeshift staffs.

They’re chanting furiously about something but that’s beyond Zero’s capacity to care. Big Fly is about to call for back-up as dark puddles flow from underneath some of the wrecked cars. Human casualties. The other members of the squad are hurrying to save the unfortunate, injured bystanders and helping others evacuate. Asides from Big Fly’s mech swarm, which only provides a momentary distraction to stall for time, no one is directly confronting the hostiles and succeeding.

Situation has escalated from Irregular to Maverick. No take-downs, only terminations.

More importantly, it means anyone can chalk it up to circumstantial response if Zero doesn’t follow orders and stay in the back this time.

Beam saber in hand, Zero slices the back of a Maverick looming over a B-Rank trying to protect two shrieking civilians. He hears an enraged cry rising behind him and Zero readjusts his grip on his sword to make it face backwards. He plunges it behind him and is rewarded with the gurgled choke and a spray of torn metal specks.

As he progresses down the street, systematically taking down one Maverick at a time, the rest of the hostiles are refocusing their efforts on to stopping Zero. When Zero effortlessly dances between the lumbering bulks and three fall down, bisected, the others seem to finally caught on that they’re no match for the Red Ripper.

The numbers drop from fifteen to eight. Now that there are less civilians in the way, Big Fly’s squad of five Hunters excluding Zero are fighting back more evenly.

Zero has eyes for the de-facto leader who’s calling out for a retreat. He sees it lash out at two Hunters, thick arms seizing the smaller reploids’ collars and sending them flying at a Hunter shooting it from the side, knocking the group down. The energy weapon shots that chase it only leave black scorch marks.

The Maverick swivels around, dashing around a corner into a narrow dank alley between two brick buildings.

Zero follows like a shadow.

Despite gracelessly banging and breaking metal rail bars along the way, the Maverick is making impressive progress lifting itself up the zig zagging fire escape towards the rooftops.

_Reinforced joints and thick outer shell. Too sturdy for blunt attacks._

But there’s one thing that’s vulnerable.

Zero has a standard Hunter issued gun on his hip but he knows it won’t do the job. After double checking that there isn’t anyone around him, he raises his right arm, transforms it into a buster, and fires twice. It returns back to normal so quickly it’s as if it never happened in the first place.

The first shot hits the back of the Maverick’s head. The moment the Maverick turns its head around to see its attacker, the second shot lands right at its unguarded eyes. It curses, reflexively reaching for its face as if pushing the shattered glass back on will help.

With both arms off the railings, the Maverick falls, crashing into the concrete. The ground shudders under the impact, dust and debris up in the air in a dirty cloud.

Beam saber in hand, the crimson warbot steadily approaches the screaming Maverick.

“We’re not the wrong ones! Why can’t you see that? Why can’t the Hunters rusting see that?! If we break, nobody cares!” The Maverick’s voice edges onto desperation. “ _Nobody!”_

In one swift motion Zero stabs through the shielding hands and into its face. The sheer heat of the saber cleanly goes through its head, melting metal and circuitry around the energy blade until the Maverick’s head is an orange grey blob with blackening faux skin mixing into the mess. Its wildly fluctuating pitched screams die down into statics.

The enemy falls silent.

Sheathing his saber back to its shoulder holster, the Red Ripper walks out of the alley just as the other Hunters finally show up. Thin, elongated golden sensors breeze between the late arrivals.

“Oh rust, his face is all gone!”

“Screw this, I'm not part of clean-up.”

It’s faint but there are undercurrents of fear in the hushed tones behind Zero’s back.

Good. Everyone should be afraid of him. 

 

* * *

 

Zero doesn’t remember anything from his life before the Maverick Hunters. But it doesn’t matter. No one needs to open Zero up for the warbot to know that he has some very specific features other reploids don’t. That he lacks some features other reploids have such as in-built access to the communications network.

He’s meant to be isolated. All to himself. A singular weapon.

As long as he carries out his duty as a weapon then he’s fulfilling his reason to exist. And that’s more than enough for him.

 

* * *

 

The Maverick Hunters Headquarters’ sparring gym is a wide, high-ceiling space that breaks through the upper floor, allowing further vertical maneuverability, ranged attacks, and a ringed balcony for an audience. Common teaching methods among Unit Leaders include bringing their squads here for training sessions, evaluating and critiquing individual performances, and observing the fights of other participants.

Zero understands the reasons. He sees the value.

It still doesn’t damper the itching urge to aim a buster at the ogling Hunters above him and blast off a few heads.

Except that’s idiotic. Maybe he can demand them to leave?

No. That would provide them the implication that Zero is bothered by having an audience and that’s a weakness. Zero can't afford to appear weak.

He doesn’t know the extent of the damage that he has suffered and with the amnesia he may never know. But he believes there’s very few among the Hunters is a match against him except possibly the Commander (and even then a part of Zero says that he can take Sigma on. Something is wrong.).

Right now he and Sigma have a deal: if the Hunters want Zero to stay close, no one is allowed to open the warbot up. Even so, if these reploids observe him and his techniques long enough, with the right tactics and enough firepower they do have a chance to take him down if they want to. An extremely small chance but a chance nonetheless.

The fact that Sigma defeated the Red Ripper and can do it again is the invisible leash that allows the other Hunters to be at ease (somewhat) around the crimson combatdroid. A rabid animal is safer caged than released. 

Still, being in Hunter Base feels like walking on a thin, glass beam over an acid pit. Sigma may trust that Zero doesn’t remember anything and isn’t going to berserk anytime soon, but the rest of the Hunters keep eyeing him. Waiting for him to make an oil spill.

“Are you nervous?”

The warbot returns his attention to his opponent standing at the other side of the room.

This isn’t the first time that he has sparred with Boomer Kuwanger. The beetle animaloid has offered to spar with Zero a couple times by now and the red warbot has taken up with every single one of them despite being aware that the bug reploid’s agenda is to collect as much of Zero’s combat data as he can. That’s Kuwanger’s base directive after all.

Ultimately it doesn’t matter. Zero has already caught on the other’s intentions and has been careful not to reveal his full capabilities. 

And if Kuwanger thinks Zero is wary because of spectators then good. The other Elite Unit member still doesn’t have an accurate profile on Zero.   

Not really answering the question, the red robot replies, “There’s a lot more people here than usual.”

“You’re getting popular,” the beetle animaloid says nonchalantly as he walks into position, fingers hovering by his waist.

Zero frowns. To be popular means to be admired by many people and Zero can’t think of any reason how that can happen. Wiping out an entire squad should win him zilch favorability no matter how much of it was induced by hacked up construction.

Refocusing, Zero asks, “Weapons or hand-to-hand?”

Kuwanger’s dark green eyes glint. “Weapons.”

Zero reaches for his beam saber, remembering to dial the power down to the absolute minimum – and dashes to the side in half of his full speed to avoid Kuwanger’s sudden rush attack, avoiding sharp edge of the Boomerang Cutter just in time. Ignoring the sudden rise of clamoring above them, Zero whirls around to aim a roundhouse kick at the animaloid’s winged back but Kuwanger bends low and speeds out of range, twisting around to full frontally face the crimson robot again.

Nanoseconds later the Boomerang Cutter is swirling towards Zero. Zero ducks before it can graze him, closing into the beetle animaloid again to lay a few slashes of the saber that Kuwanger narrowly evades with some intricate footwork. Hair buzzing of an approaching object from the back, Zero ducks again, the animaloid’s weapon returning in full circle just to latch back onto Kuwanger’s helm again.

Boomer Kuwanger can switch between an effective melee and ranged fighter as long as he has his trademark weapon on him. Yet the crimson warbot knows that if he brings out the Zero Busters and goes full speed, Kuwanger doesn’t have a chance.

But as far as anyone is concerned, no one knows that Zero has in-built busters into his arms. He heard the details of his berserk and not once did it mention of him utilizing any ranged weaponry.

That’s something he can keep hiding for now.

The warbot and the animaloid continue their dance, each of them having close calls but not eager to end their fight anytime soon. They’re both trying to achieve an accurate gauge of the other’s abilities, which quickly lapses into an almost easy-going pattern of exchanged blows between the two Elite Unit members.

Zero’s hearing registers an increased number of murmuring above him but he pays it no mind.

Just as Zero can see that the other combatdroid is getting comfortable and is preparing to make a feint, invite the other into a submission grapple – Zero freezes a for a split second when his threat assessment is suddenly _screaming_ at him to look up.

_End this game and locate the danger._

The crimson combatdroid’s processor goes blank. Mindlessly, Zero automatically dashes in full speed, startling the animaloid to hesitate. Clutching Kuwanger’s helmet, Zero slams the other Elite Unit member to the ground head first, the rest of Boomer Kuwanger’s body following him down like a gangly ragdoll. As soon as Kuwanger’s head meets the surface, Zero’s beam saber is right by the animaloid’s neck. This match is officially over.

It’s way more force than Zero intended or ever revealed during his stay in Hunter Base – even the rogue mechs and Mavericks out of the field never warranted this degree of strength - and a small part of him curses when he hears the series of gasps rise above him.

But the Hunters don’t matter. Whatever just arrived on the balcony is the _real_ threat and Zero _needs_ to know what it is.

Piercing blue eyes snap upwards to the balcony, scanning through the crowd of rookies, a couple veteran Hunters and – _and Sigma, when did Sigma come here? Stop, focus, he’s not the important one_ \- until they find a particular pair of eyes holding Zero's gaze.

Zero stands up. Boomer Kuwanger barely holds back a hiss below him.

Green eyes, synthetic brown hair, humanoid built. It's wearing an ill-fitting, rumpled white lab coat. Zero can spot peeks of blue near the wrists and at the feet, but not much else.

He’s not deceived. There’s something beneath that layer of fabric worthy of inspection.

“You got me this time. I never saw you go that fast before,” Kuwanger speaks slowly between statics as he stands up almost creakily next to Zero. “That took me off-guard. It seems I have calculated your RP speed lower than I initially evaluated. I'll have to correct that.”

Zero neither says anything nor care. He’s too busy trying to visually reap as much information as he can from that robot pretending to be a human. He’s getting warnings but he doesn’t know why. They’re coming from the black area of his processor where his memories and parts of his system capabilities supposedly reside.

He needs to get closer. Use his targeting and observation settings to fill in the blanks.

When Boomer Kuwanger speaks again, it’s full of an analyst’s curiosity. “What’s up there that possesses your attention so?”

Following the warbot’s line of sight, the animaloid scoffs derisively. That’s the first gesture of its kind Zero has observed from the normally cool animaloid.

“That’s unexpected. So the First is here.”

_The First?_

Having no memories is inconvenient, but asking questions and giving away his ignorance is even more so. Zero can find out later discretely. 

Before Zero can make up his mind whether to leap up to the balcony or not, the robot in the lab coat who has been maintaining Zero’s eye contact smiles.

What does that mean? Confusion forces Zero to stay still.

Sigma taps the blue robot’s shoulder, says something that makes the smaller robot nod, and the both of them walk away, allowing the other spectators to fill in the gap.

The blaring sirens in Zero’s mind die down.

 

* * *

 

He’s summoned to see the Commander.

Sigma didn’t tell him what time to come and Zero prefers to get whatever necessary business out of the way. Holding the highest position in headquarters, Sigma has a separate waiting room and a secretary typing away behind a sleek counter outside of his own office. To set up a space to deliberately make even one’s coworkers to anticipate meeting him. The implication of the Commander's sheer importance - Zero can appreciate the subtlety.

Then the warbot is barely three steps past the entrance when his sensors start ringing again.

Threat assessment is rising like a rumbling storm and there’s no visible mark to connect it.

The warbot’s mind goes blank again. Combat mode is fully engaged. His steps grow faster. There’s a voice calling out in the distance -

“Excuse me? Please come back here! You have to check in first!”

The secretary reploid. Unimportant. Zero dismisses it.

“The Commander is already meeting someone!”

_Potential hostile._

Zero unceremoniously forces Sigma’s door open.

Large three white-walled room with rounded corners (platforming more difficult) with the back wall essentially composed of sprawling windows facing down Abel City (vulnerable, environmental risk, consider tossing target through the glass). Center contains a half circular desk (the one major obstacle besides the chairs and the bookshelves) facing the door and two individuals: Sigma (eyes fractionally wider, surprised, not the threat, leave alone) behind the desk and the other –   

_It’s that robot again._

Except this time that stupid lab coat is gone and there’s a blue helmet gracing its head, which causes threat assessment to spike up even higher.

Zero’s evaluation settings turn up a notch and even then it doesn’t help much.

Because there’s too much input registering the binary equivalents of question marks and that arguably makes it even worse. Nothing is more terrifying than an enemy whose capabilities are unknown.

Zero is about to turn on his thrusters for a rush attack, eyeing his target’s arms because he’s _certain_ there are weaponry embedded in them until the thing smiles. Raises its hand and waves.

“Why, hello to you too,” it greets warmly.

Zero blinks as threat assessment trips over itself. That’s not enemy behavior. Is it trying to deceive him? 

Then the warbot notices that his right hand is up in the air, midway to reach for his beam saber in his shoulder holster. Taken aback at how his physical subroutines are acting ahead of him, Zero forces the hand to go back to his side, slowly as his combat routines scramble to regain a stable directive.

Proximity sensors alert of a dull presence rushing behind.

“Commander Sigma, I’m sorry!” a voice cries. The secretary again. “I tried to stop him but he didn’t listen!”

Sigma’s face is schooled back to normal. Now the monolith of a reploid’s expression hovers between stern indifference and annoyance.

“Zero, I did request you to come but it’s unprofessional to barge in like this You’ve been a Hunter for nearly two months now. I expect you to act accordingly.”   

“I am acting accordingly,” Zero replies despite himself. “I sensed a danger and I was prepared to eliminate it.”

But now he’s not sure anymore. Sigma looks partly bewildered and unimpressed while the blue robot’s eyes widen. It’s scrutinizing Zero with curiosity.

Overall there’s nothing in this underwhelming scene that lines up with Zero’s threat assessment.

If Zero was programmed with the ability to blush – which he’s not, at least his builder didn’t screw that up - he would be as red as his armor.

Stiffly, Zero says,” I must have made an error.”

 _I didn’t_ , he doesn’t say.

“I’ll leave now.”

Pushing past the flabbergasted secretary reploid, the warbot stalks off.

 

* * *

 

The problem with waking up to a world with barely anything to go on is that Zero naturally accepts whatever information he receives in which they are presented.

For example, he never questioned why reploids are called reploids despite lacking preceding information on exactly what they are just as he never questioned why robots are called robots. Also semantic details are unimportant compare to survival and the maintenance of said survival. Anyone with a functioning processor should set their priorities to understanding themself, locating or joining a territory if one lacks it, and conducting further recon on the chosen faction. The next step is to establish oneself, become a familiar presence, and then secure a position in the upper hierarchy.

Back when Zero has first joined, he quickly learned that while the Hunters Common Room was designed to increase interaction and comradery among Hunters despite ranks, all of that gets tossed on a destruction conveyor belt the moment someone like Flame Mammoth or Vile walk in. Then slowly the rookies and the lower ranked Hunters will leave, intimidated, until all there’s left are A-Ranks who are determined not to be easily cowed.

In fact, more A-Rank Hunters flock in when that happens. The crimson warbot is eighty-eight percent certain that the A-Ranks prefer to spend their spare time in their respectful rooms but they keep coming here to participate in vague power plays under the guise of being sociable.

Zero’s only here because the mere-exposure effect is working well for him so far. The other A-Ranks are used to the warbot being at the same spot in the same position: leaning against the farthest wall facing the door, spending his time perusing through a data pad. He’s a picture of someone who’s hiding nothing. 

Well. They _think_ he’s always learning something from online but really he’s been studying them. Today is the rare instance that he’s actually looking something up.

Then the door violently hisses open.

Chill Penguins waddles in with balled up fists, shrilling, “What the rust does he think the Hunters are? That he can waltz in and join us just like that? Rusting arrogant piece of outdated scrap!”

“The smelt are you talking about?” Spark Mandrill says curiously from his sprawled position in one of the many varying sizes chairs in the room.

“Didn’t you hear?” the ice specialist sneers. “ _X_ wants to become a Hunter.”

Interested, Zero looks up from the data pad, attentive.

Chill Penguin spits disdainfully. “The prototype’s better off being in a museum. Sigma’s usually so slagging smart but this must be the most moronic thing he has ever done.”  

Looking up from his own data pad from the center table, Storm Eagle sends a sharp look at the belligerent reploid. “Chill Penguin,” the taller bird animaloid warns.

“What? You think I’m wrong?”

“I think you’re overreacting,” the Prince of the Skies replies calmly. “So what if X wants to join? It’s certainly not a great matter to warrant your anger. He is ultimately a robot like you and me.”

“For someone who has the name ‘Chill’ in it, you have none.” Vile pipes up lazily from the ground, pausing midway from cleaning the barrel of his trademark shoulder cannon. “But I actually agree with you on this one. You’re not in the Seventeenth so you don’t even know half the tar Sigma spouts.”

It’s almost impressive how Vile can pull off sounding boastful and condescending over his apparent closeness to the commander. His voice pitches upwards to a higher octave as if to mockingly quote Sigma. “’X is the Father of All Reploids!’ ‘X is the reason us reploids exist!’ ‘ X, X, X’ – peh! No shame at all. I’ve never been so _embarrassed_ for another reploid since I’ve been activated.”

“Are you smelting kidding me? Sheesh!” Chill Penguin huffs in almost-sympathy. “That _is_ embarrassing! Why is the commander of the Maverick Hunters fawning over X when his only contribution is _existing?_ He doesn’t deserve it!”

“Oohh, sounds like someone’s been rubbed acid,” Flame Mammoth chuckles. “You jealous, Chill Penguin? You shouldn’t be. Both you and X are basically the same.”

The Polar Region Leader narrows his eyes at the elephant reploid. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“I’m saying…” Flame Mammoth says slowly as he takes lumbering step after step until he’s completely looming over the ice-based animaloid. “That both you and X ain’t in a position to think you’re better than anyone else. I mean look at you.”

The humongous reploid makes an off-handed gesture at Chill Penguin’s frame. “You’re so uselessly short you barely reach my hip actuators.”

Chill Penguin releases a long, indignant squawk with a volume that competes Vile’s cackling and overpowers Spark Mandrill’s wearied sighs. Zero hears Storm Eagle forcing an exvent through his beak, muttering, “Not again.”

Chuckles dying, Vile leans back slightly with his arms crossed behind his head. “You know what? Despite how annoying Sigma can get, I do look forward to seeing X for the first time.”

“There’s more than plenty of pictures of him online,” Spark Mandrill says in a slow, questioning tone.

“Rust me, you really can’t process metaphors dontcha?” Vile remarks. “I mean  _see_ him. X barely leaves his hole from Cain Labs. Apparently he’s so fragile that if he trips wrong he’ll shatter. And someone like him wants to be a Hunter?” He chuckles again. “It’s going to be a riot.”

Zero frowns in confusion. This time he really doesn’t understand. Why does everyone except him keep seeing X the equivalent of a hatless mettaur?

He must be suffering defects outside of his amnesia. Wouldn’t be a stretch. The reports say that he lost to Sigma and the warbot’s threat assessment of the Commander is lower than Zero’s self-assessment. Or perhaps whoever built him foolishly encoded dangerous degrees of underestimation in his subroutines? Who knows.

As Flame Mammoth and Chill Penguin’s petty quarrel reaches higher volumes, Zero pushes himself off the wall and quietly leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

He’s going to be taken off of parole.

“…Big Fly’s latest report included praises for your attempts of de-escalation and damage control…”

He’s going to be off the invisible leash.

 “…one more mission for you…”

No more being forced in the back during a battle unless called on. _Finally._

“…be a personal mentor.”

Zero blinks.

“Is there going to be a problem?” Sigma asks patiently at Zero’s silence.

“I’ve been a Hunter for barely three months,” Zero answers.

“Do you lack confidence in your qualifications?”

_I lack confidence in your decision-making._

Sigma did decide to keep a mass murderer after all.

“It’s a test. You haven’t exhibited any berserker symptoms and if you can prove to me that you can oversee the progress of a rookie then you’re free.”

Zero's not an idiot. An opportunity comes, he takes it. 

“Understood. Who will I be mentoring?”

Zero isn’t as well versed with emotions as the next reploid but he’s sure that twitching lips is a sign of amusement. The fact that Sigma of all robots is doing it does not bold well for Zero.

“X will be at the sparring room at zero eight hundred hours tomorrow. Don’t be late.”   


	2. Chapter 2

“X will be at the sparring room at zero eight hundred hours tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

Sigma’s words are a clear dismissal. In any other situation, Zero would take the cue and leave immediately. Orders are to be obeyed not questioned.

This time he doesn’t.

“X,” Zero repeats the monosyllabic name carefully. “The First?”

“You’re aware of his reputation.”

“He’s everywhere.”

It’s not an exaggeration. In fact, Zero is partially surprised that he hasn’t learned of X’s existence sooner than he did. Searching online with “the First” and “X” is enough to summon articles concerning the android’s discovery, his century-long hibernation, the scientific marvel of his construction, and his contributions to creating reploidkind. By simply existing, X has revolutionarily changed the world forever.

Simply put, X is so smelting important that it’s completely bolts to charge the Father of all Reploids (one of the many fanciful titles humans have called X) to the local former Maverick when there are far more suitable mentors to select.  

But then again this is Sigma.

The Commander leans back in his sizable seat designed to be maneuverable yet solid, the closest an office chair can be to a throne. “Then I expect you to treat him with the upmost courtesy.”

The warbot frowns. Sigma notices.

“You did barge into my office while I was meeting with X,” the taller robot remarks sounding faux-thoughtful. “I hope that wasn’t an indication that you have forgotten what basic etiquette is as well.”

“I require clarification,” Zero responds without a beat, the subtle jab at his amnesia not affecting him the slightest. “Am I to mentor X based on an outline or under specific guidelines?”

“Rather than?”

“My preferred methods.”

Sigma’s pupil-less eyes glint as he tilts his chin inwards. “Elaborate.”

“I need to first understand X’s capabilities before creating a regime suitable for his development. What X is does not matter to me.” Unless threat assessment isn’t defective. In which case, to Zero X is someone worthy of immediate termination.

Though he can imagine the complications if he lays a hand on the highly esteemed Father of All Reploids. If killing Gamma’s Unit wasn’t an automatic death sentence, harming X would definitely be one. According to how they word their articles online, the humans seem fond of the blue android, and human opinion matters to the Hunters as a whole.

It’s strange to Zero, but let it not be him to hinder the Hunters’ interests.  

“However, if you want him to be coddled I’ll go easy on him.” No matter how much the combatdroid finds the concept disdainful.

Common sense dictates it is crucial to train a batch of amateurs as strictly as possible so they can sufficiently fight and survive for the next battle. Regularly losing warriors out of negligence is not only inefficient and stupid, but also high mortality rates tend to decrease overall group morale and eat through resources that could have been otherwise preserved.

So far Zero has some respect towards the Maverick Hunters for being somewhat efficient, but if the Father of All Reploids needs special treatment…

“Not at all,” says Sigma, cutting Zero’s disapproval before it becomes anything. “If anything, I want you to be harder. Do not hold back on X. Show him the arduous side of being a Hunter. Show him the grit and the rust. Intimidate him until he is tempted to quit.”

Don’t hold back? _Don’t hold back?_

 _Stop,_ Zero chides himself, squashing the spike of excitement.

Sigma is asking Zero to train X, not kill him. Threat assessment is becoming something like an amateur Navigator; constantly butting in the middle of an operation to relay unneeded instructions for a goal that doesn’t align with Zero’s.

_Above all else, complete the mission._

As long as he trains X and doesn’t offline him, Zero isn’t going to have the world turn against him anytime soon.

 

* * *

 

At twenty-three hundred hours, Zero receives three documents from Sigma during his recharge cycle. Fortunately, Zero is a natural early riser and so he’s able to spend some time perusing them when he wakes up in the following morning.

The first one is the official mission document pertaining his current circumstances and conditions to be released from his probation. There are general training regimens in case Zero needs them (he doesn’t, he has remembered everything), but there is a post-script that permits Zero more leeway in how he decides to train his future student.

The second file is a list of spaces within Hunter Base that Zero can now enter freely. Before the Red Ripper couldn’t go any space such as the simulation gym, the training room, or outside of Hunter Base without strict supervision from a highly-ranked, capable Hunter. But Zero is now temporarily lifted from probation and is authorized to more spaces under the condition that he utilizes them for training X.

Finally, the third document is a physical specs profile of his to-be student – which Zero finds is partially blank. There’s an attached note that emphasizes that Zero’s mission is to overlook the progress of a rookie from the beginning to the end of the mentorship. Some lines are intentionally left empty for Zero to fill them in himself later.

Fair enough. The warbot pays attention to what _is_ filled in – and finds it frustrating.

According to this file, X (and most reploids in general) has “broad-range eye cameras”, but exactly how sensitive are X’s? X’s construct is mostly out of a “lightweight alloy” but what kind? Teryllium-carbonite? Dutimeralite? Something that can at least handle being run over by an object operating at three thousand newtons? 

Did the Lifesaver who made X’s medical profile even make an effort? Or was this deliberately made vague to make Zero’s job harder?  

Unless it’s truly stating X’s specs as they are, in which case this implies that there’s nothing about X that makes him different from the average civilian reploid. It rubs acid on Zero. This profile feels so lacking.

It doesn’t even mention if he’s installed with a weapon! Zero finds that unbelieving. He was so sure that X had something installed.

But then again, the warbot has recently considered threat assessment being defective as a factor. 

Ultimately, overthinking this is useless. He will have his answer when he meets X himself.

The combatdroid then hears a soft familiar click, the low hiss bringing him out of his contemplations. The glass shielding of his recharge tube has unlocked and it opens as if taking a deep breath.

Exactly seven thirty. Even though the warbot has been awake much earlier than that, his tube is customized to follow a schedule that he has no control over.

Zero leaves his dimly lit, solitary recharge room, eyes seamlessly adjusting to the bright lights once he steps pass the door. He ignores the usual Battons hanging on the ceiling above him, their security cameras for eyes vigilantly watching the former Maverick’s every move until he walks through the small, closed-off branch of his floor. As always, they don’t follow him to the elevators.

There are already two Hunters inside when the metal doors part open and they flinch at the sight of the Red Ripper. The elevator is a large space and it’s obvious at how the other two occupants subtly step just a little too far to the sides to be considered polite, giving Zero a wide berth. Zero is operating at full capacity and his finger passes the canteen floor in favor for the sparring floor. He waits.

His floor comes up before the other Hunters’ and the warbot revels in the barely restrained exvents behind him when he stalks out.

 

* * *

 

The sensors pick Zero’s movement and automatically rows of fluorescent lighting switch on, chasing the shadows away from the once darkened lobby. The same effect occurs when he enters the actual space.

He’s the first and only one here. Without any spectators, for once Zero feels completely comfortable in this open room.

The small satisfaction he had diminishes as soon he feels the familiar tingling of threat assessment becoming alert.

Immediate peripheral survey. No one else has walked in and no one is at the spectator stands at the second floor. It’s still just Zero, which means there’s only one explanation.

 _X_.

X has always been the constant every time threat assessment gets anxious and there’s no visible target in sight. Zero is almost persuaded to go to medbay and get opened up just to figure out _why_ and _how_ he seems to have a detection radar for specifically X.

No. He does know why. Threat assessment wants X’s remains to be in the nearest incinerator without a single trace.

It’s the ‘how’ that evades Zero; whatever sensors that can pick up X’s presence through _walls_ , Zero doesn’t know what they are. They sit beyond the thick, nigh impenetrable barrier in his processor that’s blocking off access from his memories and his other system capabilities. And they’re powerful enough that he can feel them spike incrementally at a steady rate. Like the pace of approaching footsteps.

But this time Zero is calmer. Now that he knows more about X he has a couple theories on what’s going on. Testing them will be interesting. 

The door slides open and the second visitor to the sparring room enters.  

Zero clenches his hands into a pair of tight fists, preventing neither of them from transforming into a buster. Attempting to pacify combat mode, the warbot compensates by dialing up his observation settings on high.  

X’s gait is steady as he approaches closer, his joints rolling smoothly in sinuous grace silently. No subtle creaks over invisible nicks that’s common with the run-off-the-conveyor-belt reploids and their average construction quality. What is presumably a crimson power gem sits on the center of the helmet which purpose eludes Zero. X’s azure exterior plating is clean yet doesn’t give off a glaring shine. Gently light absorbent. Doesn’t appear painted or insulated with varnish either. A softer alloy for surface coating? Bad design for armor.

_No. That’s not it._

The metal can possibly be made out of some unique alloy or it has undergone thorough laser conditioning, which is a heavily extensive metal fabrication process. Either way, it’s apparent that plenty of care has gone into X’s construction.

Zero’s processor skids to a stop.

The warbot doesn’t know where that particular bit of knowledge come from. How does he know that? Is that something he always knew?

“-ello? Is everything alright?”

The warbot blinks. Self-CPU examination interrupted.  

X is right in front of him, a hand raised hesitantly, fingers curled as if he’s about to reach out to Zero but stopped himself.

“You weren’t answering,” X explains gently even though Zero didn’t ask him to. “But I guess you were very deep in thought.”

“I was conducting a quick diagnostics check,” Zero recovers smoothly. It’s already a sign of alarm that he focused on X so much that he momentarily lost awareness of his surroundings. That’s not something he wants to reveal aloud.

Tactical is still vehemently poking from the back of his processor, whispering angrily to start executing one of the six different ways to cut X down before a single SOS leaves the room.

Zero stomps it down again.

“I’m Zero. Seventeenth Unit, A-Rank,” he formally introduces himself. “I’ll be coaching you until you take the Ranking Exams.”

_Or you give up._

Whichever comes first.

“I’m X. Previously a lab assistant for Cain Labs and now a rookie. I’ll do my best and I won’t quit.”

X, who appears as an older teen or young adult from human standards, appears even more youthful when he smiles. Something about X appearing in that particular age range strikes so strangely to the combatdroid.

Is it because X is technically older than the entire reploid race and so he should appear much older?

Older doesn’t seem right though.

The blue android raises a hand in the space between them at chest level and the warbot’s gaze latches onto the gesture instantly.

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Zero. I hope we get along well.”

Zero knows what it is. A handshake: a simple gesture of trust common upon first meetings.

_Don’t hold back._

Of course. 

Zero takes the other robot’s hand firmly.

X beams. “So what are we doing ne– ACH!“

Zero tugs the other robot towards himself, eliciting a surprised gasp from X before rotating his body sideways to kick the Father of All Reploids right in the abdomen.

Zero sees the split second of green eyes bulging wide before they disappear in the rest of the blur that is X’s body as it flies to the other side of the room. The blue android bounces off the floor twice and rolls to a complete stop, ending with a groan that echoes through the room.

Lightweight alloy indeed. 

Zero refocuses when X rises onto one knee. The warbot didn’t put full force behind that blow - only enough that it would have a basic civiloid laying on the ground way longer than X did.

Zero mentally files away that X’s body can handle some punishment. Healthy self-maintenance perhaps?

“That was _mean_.” X coughs. “What was that for?”

Zero internally statics in a way that would translate aloud as a scoff if he didn’t find it a very unnecessary, human gesture.

Oh wait. He’s a mentor now. He has to answer questions. Educate.

“Battle reflexes,” he answers. “The Mavericks aren’t going to be nice to you. You have to be constantly vigilant.”

X’s voice hiccups with bits of - stunned laugher? He finds this amusing? - as he stares at Zero. “So I take it training has already begun?”

Zero doesn’t say anything. He stalks forward, his body quietly thrumming as it prepares to enter active combat mode and X startles into standing up fully. But Zero drops low, grabbing the back of X’s thighs and effortlessly slams the rookie back first onto the ground.

“Are we fighting?” X yelps, only to choke again when the warbot pins the blue android’s stomach down with his own weight. Zero seizes both of X’s wrists firmly.

“Combat responsiveness slow,” Zero notes.

Now that he’s this close to X it’s tempting. It’ll be so easy to raise a buster and blow his processor out at point blank range - 

 _Control,_ he orders himself furiously.

Sigma says this is a test and that can’t be any truer. Holding back and _not_ holding back is hard.

Instantly Zero lets one wrist go to aim a fist right at X’s helmet. It’s a mere millimeter away from the shining gleam of the crimson gem on X’s forehead when the blue android raises his forearms up to guard his face just in time. Zero responds by raining down a series of punches with only one fifth of his strength behind them (any stronger and he’ll risk escalating this) and, when X hasn’t advanced beyond the defensive, seizes X’s wrists again and forces them away. Back to the previous position.

“There were multiple ways you could have regain your advantage but you didn’t execute any of them. Don’t you have even a megabyte of any combat info?” It is mandatory for every rookie to have a considerable archive downloaded before doing anything else.

“I do,” X confirms. Despite his chest rising up and down to compensate the sudden systems rework, he seems perfectly fine being on his back.

“Then regain your advantage,” Zero says in a way that it’s obvious.

X blinks.

“Okay. Will you please let me get back up?”

The warbot stares. X stares back.

Does Zero have to code everything out for him?

“No. You need to physically throw me off. Fight back.”

A strange expression flits through X’s face but it disappears before Zero can read into it. The blue android experimentally tugs his captured hands. They barely budge. Then he exerts a bit more force. He remains pathetically unsuccessful.

This perplexes Zero. “This can’t possibly be all you’re capable of.”

X offers a self-deprecating smile. “I’ve never fought before. I’m sorry to disappoint you.” He says it so readily like a practiced phrase. “If I was suitable to be a Hunter, we wouldn’t be in this arrangement. I wouldn’t need a mentor. That’s why I need you to train me in the first place.”

 _Liar! This doesn’t make any sense!_ Combat mode cries fiercely like a snap of a whip.

 _What would be the point of him lying?_ Zero shots back. 

Arguing with his own defective programming is like wrangling a herd of frantic mettaurs.

The doubt in Zero’s tactical grows stronger and with it, mixed emotions. He’s pleased, disappointed and relieved at the same time.

On one hand, threat assessment is finally tripping over itself with all this new information instead of demanding Zero to kill X. It’s quieting down. Processing. Not being a trigger happy idiot. 

On the other, if X is really not a valid threat then that means Zero has severely overestimated the other robot. The combatdroid truly is suffering some malfunctions beyond his amnesia and fit of insanity.

At least no rookies will be getting accidentally murdered in their first day. Zero has come this far without another berserker fit - he’s determined to keep it that way. 

Mind clearer now that tactical is finally shutting up in its scrambling, Zero stands up while pulling X to his feet. X doesn’t move further away like some smarter reploiods instinctively would. He only watches Zero.

Maybe it’s a “Father of All Reploids” quirk. Maybe X has no basic survival subroutine. Maybe he’s got a slower CPU than the average reploid.

Whatever it is, it seems X hasn’t developed a healthy wariness of a combatdroid that pummeled him a minute ago yet and Zero - Zero is…

He turns away, blond hair barely brushing against X as he briskly pads towards the exit. “Come with me,” the newly minted mentor commands. “Your specs profile is incomplete because you weren’t properly tested. We’re rectifying it. Have you undergone general protocol training?”

“I haven’t,” X tentatively answers.

“Then you’ve skipped stages too. Normally it’s only once you’re sorted into a specific unit that you receive personal mentorship, and your mentor would be your Unit Leader.”

That’s what Zero learned later. For the Red Ripper, he was kept under the watchful eye of the entire organization and especially from Sigma in his first few weeks with the Hunters.

Not that he minded. He appreciated to be in close proximity with what he perceived as his initial targets until he deemed them to be adequate allies. 

Disquieted, the blue android looks to the side. “I’m aware that my position is unique.”

“That makes two of us,” says Zero when they’re out in the hallways. “Our circumstances are unconventional and so is this mentorship. But my mission is to meld you to not be cannon fodder and I will see that accomplished.”

Lips twitching, X repeats,” Cannon fodder?”

They’ve reached the elevators. Zero presses a button to summon one and waits.

“That’s what you are right now. I don’t know what your RP scores are yet, but you’re definitely not a battle robot.”

It makes sense for the First to not be one. A human wouldn’t design the world’s very first android as a weapon of mass destruction despite how much fuss threat assessment made earlier. Restraining himself from not killing X in the first minute of meeting him was the tallest hurdle. As long as combat mode doesn’t act up, this mission should go smoothly from this point onwards.

X’s face contorts in discomfort. Is he realizing that him being a Hunter will be an uphill battle now that he understands how much ground he needs to cover?

“If you have tear ducts installed, disable them if possible,” Zero comments as he vividly remembers the rookie roll calls and newcomer exercises that takes place in the loading dock sometimes. The rare moments he comes across raw civilian reploids and the unused duress they’re under. “As long as you don’t quit, I’ll make a proper Hunter out of you. Be prepared.”

X’s head shoots up. His expression is ineffable. Zero tries to ignore it. 

Their elevator arrives.

 

* * *

 

Zero is used to people staring at him. Sigma has neither confirmed or denied much of the other Hunters’ questions concerning Zero’s arrival. But when an entire unit leave Hunter Base and a different, seemingly unrelated robot comes back in their place, rumors circulate.

Some of the sharper Hunters like Vile can solder the wires and guess what happened, but Zero has consistently revealed nothing.

It’s not like he knew exactly what happened either.

This time the reploids are paying attention to both Zero and X, more on X than him, and they’re not subtle at all.

“Bolts, is that X?”

“He looks like him.”

“Yeah right, why the rust would the First be here? It could be someone who looks like him.”

“Smelt me if I know. Here’s a better question: what’s any bot with his screws on doing hanging around with _Zero_?”

Right up until that comment X has been the picture of patience and calm. He too must have shared his own experiences of such attention. Now he sends a quick glance at his mentor from that comment. Zero pretends he has noticed nothing, both the whispers and curious gazes that tail the duo and X’s open curiosity.

X opens his mouth. “Where are we?” is the question that X inquires. Not the question Zero expects but one he prefers. 

“The VR branch. We’re going to use a simulation room.”

“For testing,” X confirms.

“Yes. Since you haven’t gone through it, we’re doing it now before we go any further. We’ll also be able to find out what your RP scores too.”

X should have gone through this when he first arrived. Every newly inducted Hunter needs take a basic training sessions, drilling one rendered simulation after another for maximum efficiency for a week straight. No recon, no mission, nothing, only pure training until they achieve a minimum threshold of success.

Hunters who pass through goes to the next stage. Hunters who don’t make it can continue persisting, but most give up. By that point they would consider other options besides fighting once they realize they don’t have the adequate construction to take in and apply what they learn.

Zero stops in front of a door with a green light above it, indicating that it’s vacant. Zero types in the numbers quickly into the security code panel by the door and it welcomes both robots in.

All sim gyms are divided into two sections: the smaller section where the control panel is and on the other side of the wall is the larger section where the simulation takes place. The room cannot fulfill its purpose without at least two people: the operator and the participant.  

Higher-ranking Hunters don’t come as frequently as the rookies do but the very self-disciplined ones come routinely like a check-up. It’s healthy to go through the basics every now and then to see if one is operating in top conditions.

Zero settles behind the control panel and orders X. “Get inside. I’ll set this up.”

Zero is very familiar with these spaces. He’s the only non-rookie Hunter who’s required to go through them at least once a week. Personally he doesn’t think they’re that effective since he’s managed to complete the tests without unleashing his full strength, but the simulations are sufficient for any other robot.

(It’s a legitimate concern to be wary of how the Hunters may perceive him if he does go all-out. If his scores are in a range way higher than they find comfortable.)

“I didn’t know the Hunters had such elaborate sim rooms like this.” X goes to the closest wall and presses a hand gently against one of the hexagonal beveled photon generator tiles that cover the entire surface. Turned on and inactive, they softly glow. “There’s so many…” He sounds impressed.

“Have you participated in one before?” inquires Zero.

“Hah, too many  but never in something like this. This room is so wide open.” X circles around. “Hmm, no speakers or cameras. For full immersion I presume. Can the participant end the simulation?”

“You can by calling out ‘command force quit.’ Doing so will abort your test but you’ll be graded accordingly.”

The unspoken warning to not do it unless absolutely necessary rings loud.     

“…I will be completely closed off until the simulation ends,” X says almost like a question.

Zero’s gaze zips towards the still open door. From his angle he can see X, whose green eyes focus back on him.

“Yes. It’s a single person use space,” says the warbot slowly.

“If I call out for you, you wouldn’t hear me?”

“No.”

“What if we have a comm channel?”

Zero has been curled over the controls, bringing up the default tests and tweaking them (which he can now that’s authorized). At X’s question, he fully stands up, frowning.

At Zero’s intense gaze, X’s face changes into something strange. His mouth twists to something that’s split between a smile and discomfort, cheeks slowly transforming into a different color – red.

A blush. X is embarrassed. Zero and the combatdroids that he meets frequently don’t have that feature (considering more than half of the A-Rankers are animaloids). That specific emotional feature captures Zero’s immediate attention by its accessoriness.

“In case something goes wrong, I want a safety measure,” X says finally. “I promise I won’t bother you with anything inane. Just for emergencies. Please.”

 _He’s my duty now,_ Zero reminds himself through the rise of reluctance. _We needed to swap communication sequences eventually._

“…20-020-426,” he forces out. 

X brightens up. ”Mine is 19-931-217.”

Zero inputs the sequence immediately. A second later he hears X confirming their private channel. Something about X’s voice right in his processor has threat assessment riled up again.

Then X says “ _Thank you_ ,” sounding visibly relieved.

It’s a weakness to be so openly emotional and unguarded. Animaloid Hunters have the benefit of lacking facial structures to allow for complex human affectations. Even humanoid combatdroids like Vile and Sigma have their ways to not give away their vulnerabilities. Several occasions Zero has wondered if the Commander even had that data programmed at all.

Zero needs to train that open vulnerability out of X later. Right now it’s helping threat assessment to stay befuddled and therefore quiet towards the blue android.

The warbot turns back to the panel. “You’re going to take three tests to measure the reactor output of your default power and speed, five for information intake and problem solving, and three for battle prowess and technical skill. Each test is timed. You have two hundred and thirty-five minutes. Any questions?”

“I’m good to go,” offers X with a thumbs up. Another very human gesture. Why is the Father of All Reploids so superfluously human?

“Go to the center of the room,” orders Zero. “Then the tests will start.”

X does and the door slides shut. Zero can’t see or hear anything that happens in the active space, just as X can’t from Zero’s side. The warbot activates the program.

Time to see what the First is made out of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not pleased about this chapter but it needed to get out so screw it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the sweet comments and kudos! It's been a while since I've updated and the words of encouragement have pushed me to write this chapter out through my temporary writer's block.

At the end of the tests, Zero studies the scores. Then he looks at one worn out X, looks at the scores again, then looks back at the simulation console again.

The warbot’s eyes narrow, as if the scores would change and start making sense if he bored onto them long enough. They don’t.

“Is something wrong?” asks X.

Zero gestures the blue android to come closer to look at the screen.

For the reactor output set, X scored the first test high. Much higher than Zero expected considering the abysmal strength X revealed earlier, contrasting drastically against the staggering low score for the second. The third one doesn’t even have a proper number. Instead it keeps circling through digits as if it can’t decide how fast and strong X is. Unable to take even an educated estimate at X’s parameters, it refuses to supply a consistent RP result. For the information intake and problem solving set, the first three tests were scored highly but the remaining two have no grades, opting to provide “ERROR” instead. Finally, for battle prowess and technical skill set, the first test scores zero – _a zero,_ a dead robot essentially – the second one is right below the passing minimum at sixty-five, and the last one is a measly twenty out of a hundred.

_What the smelt happened in there?_

Stop. It’s now irrelevant. What’s done is done and they’ve spent more than enough time in this room. Straightening up, Zero concludes, “This gym’s appraisal settings must be malfunctioning. I’ll alert maintenance to fix it.” It can be someone else’s problem. 

“About that…”

X is now squirming in place, determinedly staring at the space on the floor in front of his pedes, and the warbot hones onto the nervous movement. “What is it,” he demands.

Embarrassed, X rubs the back of his head. “I may be the one with the problem, not the gym.“ At Zero’s pressuring gaze, the First continues quietly. “Before I was found, I spent at least thirty years undergoing nothing but simulations in my capsule. The lab was in ruins so no one can tell if my capsule provided me more scenarios after the thirty-year mark, cycled them, or simply ran out of them. Either way, simulations do very little for me.” He grimaces. “I should have told you earlier. I’m sorry for wasting your time. The space seemed quite sophisticated so I thought maybe I could give it a try at least…” 

“What did you do?” Zero deadpans just shy of accusing.

X makes a short, raising motion with his shoulders while splaying out his hands at the same time. Excessive movement, must be another vague, human inspired gesture.

“I can’t really explain because half of the time I wasn’t quite sure what was going on either.” X wrinkles his nose. “But I can tell you that the last two tests for the second set were glitching. For example, there was this hostage scene and the hostile AI couldn’t properly respond to me. That’s probably why I received an error.”

Zero knows precisely which scenario among the hundreds, real-life event inspired simulations that X is talking about, and has the dawning suspicion of what exactly went wrong.

“You tried to negotiate with the hostile.” At X’s confirming nod, Zero continues flatly. “You _weren’t_ supposed to negotiate with the hostile.”

X frowns. “What? The instructions said to rescue the hostage as efficiently as possible. How is talking down the hostile _not_ an option?”

The combatdroid crosses his arms. “It's because the test is timed. The idea is that you were supposed to analyze the situation and figure out how to quickly take down the Maverick without any harm coming down to the hostage. That’s the limits of the AI. You technically progress through the scenario but neither the Maverick was neutralized nor the hostage was rescued. The gym didn’t know how to grade it.” Therefore, error.

Cheeks puffed, X throws his hands in the air as if he’s been personally wronged. “Well that’s stu- !” He stops, composes himself, and grumbles out, “Limited. Ugh.”

“It is,” Zero agrees. “The whole point of the tests was to fill out your baseline profile and place you in the appropriate training tier. The simulations are just the quickest way to do that.”

The rookie sighs, form deflating like a popped balloon. It’s amazing how wastefully expressive X is, Zero thinks.

“Do I have to go through all that again then?”

Zero shakes his head. “No need. I now have a clearer visual on what aspects you need to focus on and can train you accordingly.”

It’s not like the simulations can offer serious training anyway. They’re good for assessment, practice, and self-checkup (especially for the bots who don’t want to go to Medbay for that), but they don’t prepare the Hunters to experience real pain and stress.

“Foremost, you need to refuel.” X is clearly tired from the experience. And to think threat assessment considers this small, emotional thing catastrophically dangerous. Rust. “You’re low. Do you know where the canteens are?”

As if Zero’s words recoded the other’s emotion node, X immediately perks up. His previous lines of tiredness erased like waving a hand through a hologram, “I don’t actually,” he admits, tone bright. “Can you guide me?”

Why does X sound so pleased by his own ignorance? Or is he pleased by something else that’s unknown to the warbot?

“A guide isn’t necessary,” Zero returns bluntly. “The entire second and thirty-fifth floor are canteen spaces.”

“Okay, but aren’t you going to refuel as well?” X continues unperturbed.

“Yes.” Since he didn’t this morning.

“Then may I come with you?”

“...Refuel hours are considered breaks. Do whatever you like,” the senior Hunter murmurs indifferently. He needs to stop dissecting X’s behavior so much. The First reminds Zero of the social obliviousness civiloids display around concerning combat models. The sheer lack of self-preservation and unrestrained expressiveness.

It’s simpler to view X as another idiosyncratic civilian reploid. 

Zero leaves the sim gym’s operating space with his smaller student trailing behind him. 

 

* * *

 

The reploids they pass continue to whisper and watch, but it stays peacefully quiet between X and Zero until they reach the elevators. During this time, most of the Hunters are out on patrol, the administration and support reploids in their respective stations, and so there’s barely anyone at the thirty-fifth floor.

Rows and rows of empty linear tables, circular ones without chairs presumably for the reploids with non-humanoid frames here and there, and bar strips line against the walls for the solitary Hunters who want a quick refuel without being disturbed. There are giant E-Tank distributing drones sitting behind a long counter at one side of the space, patiently waiting for the lunch rush like mercenaries.  

X steps in, viridian eyes wide and shining, and enthuses, “This place is wonderful,” almost reverently.

Justifiably, Zero is confused.

“What do you mean?” he asks, reluctantly curious because what bot with their screws locked on would be excited over a refuel space?

“This is my first time seeing a cafeteria for reploids,” the blue robot explains, grinning, head swiveling side to side to drink in every detail. “Reploids don’t necessarily sit down and consume sustenance like humans do. Humans have developed an entire culture around food consumption because it takes time for them eat and digest. A reploid can simply take an E-Tank, drink it, and be done in ten minutes.” X’s expression falters for a moment. “It’s more common to see energen vending machines.”

He brightens up instantly. “But not here! It looks exactly like a human cafeteria. Sociability and space are not sacrificed for the sake of efficiency, which is a feature most architects focus on in designing spaces for reploid-centric workplaces. It’s so nice and thoughtful.”

 _The rust?_ Zero thinks blankly. No reploid he has ever met has said anything what X just said right now. He doesn’t know what to say to any of that.

The Father of All Reploids is endlessly perplexing. Again, Zero just has to take it as it is.

He wordlessly walks up to the counter and the distributor gives him one tank. X notices and catches up to the other robot unhurriedly, receiving his own.

Normally Zero wouldn’t stay in this space any longer than necessary. During his first week at Base, Zero only stayed in the canteen to observe the Hunters during their feeding time. Paranoia was at its peak: A-Ranks gathered around the new arrival, introduced themselves and tried to pick Zero’s processor apart through polite conversation that Zero could care less about.

Overall the attempt was futile; there’s nothing to glean from an amnesiac.

After Zero felt he acquired enough information of the other Hunters, then he stopped eating at the cafeteria. When it gets busy, it becomes an obnoxious mess of bodies and noise and holds no use to the warbot beyond the needed sustenance. He prefers draining the E-Tank on his way to his next destination wherever that may be.

This time, he has approximately thirty to forty minutes until the lunch rush begins and a little over an hour until the afternoon patrol. Instead of making the typical U-turn back to the elevators, Zero makes a beeline for a table at a corner and sits on the side that faces the entrances, back against the wall.

Among all the available tables, X settles in a seat across from the warbot. He opens the E-Tank but makes no move to drink it.

“How is it like being a Hunter?” begins X. “What do you do?”

Zero raised a brow. “Weren’t you informed of the job when you applied?”

Elbow on the table, X rests his chin on his hand, relaxed. “I did receive a general overview, but I’d like to hear it personally from a normal Hunter. I think Sigma may have exaggerated a few details in order to scare me.”

Zero’s eyes sharpen. “Scare you?”

“Sigma wasn’t quite supportive of me being here,” says X in a self-deprecating tone. “He was… concerned on my behalf.”

“…Are your combat capabilities that pathetic?” asks Zero with some edge to his tone. “I’ve seen your profile and what’s on isn’t impressive. In fact, everything I’ve seen so far from you outside of your analytical skills aren’t anything remarkable.” He looks to the side, jaws tightening. “It’s one thing if training you is a challenge. It’s another if it’s impossible.”

And if Sigma has intentionally set Zero up for failure…

The warbot registers a soft “pfft” sound and snaps back to X, who’s burst into a laugh. His eyes shine, his cheeks reddens, his entire form shakes. Zero is confident he hasn’t said anything that would be deemed funny, and so he doesn’t know how to judge it as something patronizing or X being weird.

Zero is already leaning towards the latter. It's consistent with what he knows so far. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just - the way you talk to me is very refreshing. “ X shakes his head, chuckling softly. He wipes something from the corner of his eye. “I’m really glad I met you.”

The warbot stiffens.    

Completely oblivious he just casually wrecked Zero’s processor, X continues. “Anyways, Sigma wasn’t trying to stop me because he sees me as defenseless.” X pauses. “Let me rephrase that. That wasn’t his major reason. I’ve developed a…reputation because of what I am. And Sigma was weighing in the social consequences of allowing me to become a Hunter.”

“The First,” Zero manages through what feels like a near short-circuit. 

As if the words were reprogramming, X instantly sobers. All traces of laughter are replaced by a thinly veiled pained twist. “Yes. That.”

The swift emotional change is intriguing and Zero latches onto it like a target. “You hate it.”

The blue android finally lifts his E-Tank to his lips, sipping slowly. After, he admits,” I’m not fond of it.”

Curious.

“But it’s useful,” counters Zero. “You lack combat expertise. Your reputation compensates your security by giving you a form of social protection that others don’t have. Anyone hurts you, there will be a backlash.”

 _That’s enough motivation to keep_ me _inline_ , the former Maverick leaves out. It’s the one thing besides conflicting inputs that’s keeping combat mode at bay.

“I - that’s,” X cuts himself off struggling. Then his shoulders draw a low line. “I wish that wasn’t the case. My reputation has created an immense gap between me and other people. I understand that it’s unavoidable and it will follow me as long as I function, but it’s very inconvenient.”

Zero stops to drink his own tank, recalling how the A-Rank Hunters like Chill Penguin and Vile have made their judgments concerning X without meeting him once. Since X is not a proficient fighter, that will sink him lower in the Hunters’ social hierarchy.

“I can see that,” the warbot accedes.

“But I’m hoping it won’t stay that way,” X says finally, injecting more optimism in his voice. “I’m going to stay here and interact with the other Hunters until we’re all familiar with each other. Perhaps I can close the gap that way.”

“Why are you so concerned with closing the gap?” If Zero was in the other’s position, he would do anything to maintain it. So far the Red Ripper has been managing a calculated distance of being a reliable professional and not an enemy. An invisible berth between him and the other Hunters. It’s a grey area that he prefers to be in.

X smiles softly. “Does anyone need a reason for wanting to have friends?”

“Friends,” the combatdroid repeats nonplussed.

“Yes.” X leans back, appearing wistful. “I don’t have many and it gets lonely sometimes.” He dips his chin just enough for his vivid green eyes to meet Zero’s. They’re clear yet indecipherable.

When he speaks it has weight, like he knows something that the warbot doesn’t. “What about you? Don’t you get lonely too?”

Zero’s processor unhelpfully summons up a blank at X’s questions.

Fortunately, he’s saved not answering a question concerning a concept he hasn’t once contemplated until one of the elevators at the other side of the room dings. A modest group of office workers trickle in, chatting actively amongst each other.

Zero checks his internal chronometer and sees that it’s minutes before the beginning of the lunch rush.

He seriously lost track of the time talking.

That has never happened before.

“It’s time for me to prepare for my patrol,” Zero says despite having at least another twenty minutes to get to the loading dock. He bends his neck back to finish off the last of his E-Tank.

“Oh, already?” X says taken aback. He shakes it off as fast. “Wow, time flies. When will you come back?”

“Typically four to five hours depending how smooth it is.”

“Okay. Will you be free after your patrol is done?”

What is this robot trying to get at? Suspicious, Zero asks,” Why do you ask?”

“If you’re not busy, I wonder if I can see you again today,” X answers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I appreciate your company.”

Realization hits the warbot like a thunderbolt.

“Are you trying to be friends with _me?”_ the Red Ripper demands with undisguised incredulity.

X tilts his head. “Is there an issue? I don’t recall if the Hunters have policies against mentors being friends with their students.”

“There isn’t any.” But the Father of All Reploids wants to - what. Close his social gap with his progeny starting with _Zero?_

Since he first met X, Zero has been nursing an inkling that when Sigma arranged this set-up the Commander hasn’t informed X exactly who his mentor used to be. X hasn’t shown any healthy wariness around Zero. The First Android or not, any sane person who knows even a passing rumor of Zero’s circumstances would drop any thoughts of getting close to the mass-murdering, former insane Maverick, discovered in an underground prison of a rusting lab in the middle of nowhere - presumably thrown away and abandoned for the aforementioned insanity.

X knows absolutely nothing about Zero. That’s the only explanation. The only one that makes any smelting sense.

“Then we _can_  be friends,” the blue android grins.

“No,” Zero snaps sharply without thinking.

X’s grin promptly drops. The other robot looks so rusting disappointed that Zero is consumed with a burning, irrational urge to slice that face in half to stop seeing it.  

“Why? What’s wrong with being friends with you?” X asks sullenly.

 _Everything!_ a part of Zero viciously retaliates with threat assessment eagerly agreeing by his side like a sword slipping from its sheath.

The notion of friendship is unstable and risks investment that does not guarantee returns. Allies are acceptable and even then that is subject to circumstance.

Variable degrees are not satisfactory. If not _family,_ then _enemy._

Zero’s mind halts to a harsh collision.

Not family then enemy? Family? _Family?_ Where did that thought even come from? It’s just like when he was studying X back in the spar room - the non sequitur; none of it follows what Zero knows or is aware within himself. Not once has he even thought of the word ‘family.’

Where is it coming from? Where is any of this coming from?

“I’ll meet you tomorrow same time, same location,” the combatdroid bites out, unable to bear being in X’s presence any longer.

He unceremoniously pushes away from the table and whips around so fast that his hair flies behind him in his haste. Determinedly ignoring the awkward “Oh, see you tomorrow then” behind him, Zero tosses his emptied tank to a bin without looking, knowing that it’ll fall accurately straight in the middle, and passes the elevators for the stairs.

Zero needs to move. Act. Preferably cut something. 

 

* * *

 

This time Zero joins the Ranger Unit Troop A’s patrol as a stand-in for an injured member instead of back-up.

He’s the first to hop off the armored transit to rescue a stranded group of hikers; a bunch of humans went off-trail and now they’re trapped in the forest because of malfunctioning Axe Maxes indiscriminately chopping anything at the perimeter (later revealed to be a result of the manufacturer scrimping costs on production).

While Sting Chameleon and the other Hunters travel through the trees, utilizing height and long-distance projectiles to pick out the unassuming lumber mechs, Zero zig-zags across the forest grounds. He’s an attractive, flashy target for the Maxes’ unsophisticated sensors and he relishes in slicing them down, ducking underneath their rigid swings, even stealing an axe or two to toss it at another one right between their bulging, orange eyes.

Zero may have killed a couple innocent Plantys on his way to the coordinates just for moving, but he simply kicks their remains into another bush and moves on. Sting’s nasal snickers above him is proof that no one’s going to get their wires over such petty collateral.

Zero is a weapon. Nothing brings him more security than exercising his ability.

Twenty minutes since entering the mountain, they find the hikers. Seven exhausted, mud-caked humans.

“The Maverick Hunters have arrived!” Sting Chameleon announces theatrically when he drops down behind the humans, eyes curved into upward sickles when they squawk in surprise. “We’re here to escort you back to civilization. We took down the rogue mechs on our way here, but I’ll be scouting ahead just in case we didn’t miss one.” His long tongue waggles about. “Wouldn’t want anything happen to your wittle heads after all.”  

The animaloid switches on his stealth mode and hooks back into the trees just as Zero hears some of the humans mutter, “Fucking hell” and “Did he seriously just call us ‘wittle?' Creep.”  

The travel back is slower despite the lack of enemies. At one point while escorting the humans back to the main trail where a mountain rangers’ van should be waiting for them, one of the humans – a short thing dressed in a puffy green jacket and a soft hat over its long red hair - trips over a raised tree root despite everyone else successfully avoiding it. It cries out dramatically as it falls. 

“I think I sprained my ankle,” it whimpers loudly when it stands up. It’s making a show of favoring one leg over the other.

“Avery, you can climb on my back,” offers a bigger and stockier human. It swings its backpack to its front and bends down. The green human shakes its head.

“Thanks Jay, but I’m super heavy and you’re already carrying your stuff. Can a reploid help me?”

“I can help you, Miss,” says a Hunter stepping forward.

“Uh, thanks but no offense you’re nearly as tall as I am and I’m just gonna drag you down,” it protests. “The red one can help me. He’s taller and he seems strong.” 

Zero is the only robot clad in red. The human is specifically referring to him.

The idea of his range restricted because of carrying baggage does not appeal to the saber-wielder.

When the combatdroid analyzes the human, he notes that its leg appears identical to how it does before with only more dirt. The human doesn’t seem injured yet it keeps gazing at Zero imploringly.

Meaning it’s aiming to occupy Zero’s attention for reasons that elude the warbot.

The warbot has no interest advancing an unknown agenda.

In a second, Zero closes the distance between him and the human with a short burst of his accelerators, suddenly too close too fast, and the human startles back. It reflexively catches itself from falling again with both feet.

“You’re fine,” Zero declares at the evidential display. With this, whatever the human’s plan has fallen apart at its root and the other Hunters will be less likely to go along with its antics if it tries anything again.

The human’s face blooms bright crimson and it splutters while other humans are laughing or rolling their eyes and the Hunters stand around, confused. Zero pauses.

X does that. The blushing.

Though it was more interesting to see it happen on him than it is on the human. Maybe because X is a robot and so it’s more deliberately layered?

No, that’s not quite it. X hasn’t done anything remotely calculated like this human tried earlier. He’s been painfully expressive and honest – fritz, even his smiles are read sincere enough for threat assessment to categorize them as not-enemy behavior. Nothing like the shallowly deceptive, polite smiles that most Hunters and civilian reploids do at the face of discomfort that Zero has previously seen (and discomfort is the most common state he sees around him).

X is completely genuine, Zero realizes with a jolt.

That’s why he was so strange to Zero. Everything the blue android has said – he wholeheartedly meant them.

 _I appreciate your company,_ X’s warm voice echoes. The memory is enough to crash Zero’s mind all over again.

_Stop thinking about that weak thing!_

“Keep going,” he orders tersely, more at himself than to the humiliated human. Swiftly, he turns heel and resumes walking with a bit more speed than before.

He's suddenly in desperate need of a recharge. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Zero and his paranoia has been fighting me tooth and nail through the writing.

Despite his best efforts filtering as much information as possible during his waking hours, Zero recharges longer that night. In fact, he doesn’t wake up until his capsule automatically opens on schedule the next morning.

The last time Zero woke up on alarm was during his first week with the Hunters.

The cause is obvious. The only thing out of routine yesterday is the new mentorship with X and the consequences of it.

 _He’s a novelty_ , Zero placates himself over his growing, self-targeted frustration as he climbs out of his tube.

Since his reactivation, the warbot has been surrounded by reploids similar to him: battle-based models who simply understand the program and fall into it. Therefore, there’s very little new data to learn. Recruits from outside the Hunters are too intimidated by Zero to willingly come within his five-meter radius and so are consequently overlooked.  

It’s only because of necessity that X now has a direct connection to Zero - and it’s naive obliviousness that the other robot is attempting to deepen it. This outsider is single-handedly providing a whole new set of information for Zero to process and archive.

Useless information, but new information nonetheless.

Which means after Zero spends more time in X’s presence, the First will cease being interesting.

He’s only a novelty - for now.

 

* * *

 

Threat assessment chimes as soon as Zero gets off of the elevator, rising steadily like a volume as he strides to the sparring room, but it’s different. It’s less of an incessant fire alarm and more of a passive sonar, pulsing what is basically “the distance between you and the threat that is X is decreasing more and more.”

The change is welcomed.

Zero will never give combat mode a true rest and vice versa, but at least Zero wants it dampened enough to stay in the background. Though the warbot appreciates being aware of the number of potential hostiles around him and categorize their threat levels towards him accordingly, threat assessment has been downright _obnoxious_ in regards to X.

So it’s almost a victory that it’s passive-aggressively suggesting to murder the Father of All Reploids instead of raising a speakerphone into Zero’s processor and shrieking for it as if there’s an incoming missile.  

Opening the doors, Zero finds his only student standing alone, back turned against him. X’s head jerks up over his shoulder like a whiplash, eyes wide and posed as if he was interrupted.

Combat mode spikes up at the suspicious behavior and Zero shoves it down.

Before the warbot can study into the strange reaction, X swivels around full-bodily with an abashed smile, hands clasping together tightly in front of him. “Good morning, Zero. Did you sleep well last night?” he greets modestly.

_Nervous behavior. Why?_

A flash of irrational paranoia shoots through the combatdroid, coming out in a forcefully stony look that’s so carefully expressionless that it’s as condemning as a loaded cannon on standby.

Ruefully, X mutters a quiet, “Ah, I see,” off to the side and Zero reprimands himself for reacting needlessly. Then he reprimands himself again for reprimanding himself in the first place because he’s not supposed to – no. He does _not_ care.

What matters is the mission. Whatever X is up to does not concern Zero unless it directly involves the warbot like trying to be…friends.

_Concentrate._

“Though yesterday’s sims tests were an oil spill,” begins Zero coolly, going straight into business, “the results generally verify two observations I have of you.”

The unexplained tension in X bleeds away for cautious curiosity. “Which is…?”

“You have effective analytical skills, but you are an awful fighter.” Despite threat assessment’s initial claims to the contrary. “I may not know what your RP scores are, but ultimately they don’t matter if you don’t utilize your output effectively. That needs to be fixed or else you’ll never pass the Hunter Exams, less alone be placed in a rank.”

X nods, appearing neither offended nor discouraged by that. “Then what do we do?”

“Since the simulations don’t work on you, you’ll have to physically go through the basic training sessions and encode them all in. It’ll be longer than what recruits normally go through, but we don’t have a choice.”

X tilts his head. “And how long does the average recruit train?”

“The beginning stage typically lasts fifty-six to seventy hours. If the recruit shows promise as a Hunter, then they enter the next phase.”

“If a recruit divides that to eight to ten hours a day, that’s a week full of simulations…” X whispers with a troubled expression. “That’s so…”

The rookie is distracted.

Without warning, Zero sprints right in front of X. The warbot glimpses X jolting before Zero raises his hand high like a blade.

“Ach!” cries out X when Zero chops straight down onto the top of the shorter android’s helmet. The blow is just hard enough for X’s head to snap down.

 _His sensory inputs are fine,_ muses Zero, calculating X’s reaction time and measuring it to the standard. _He just didn’t move. Not wired for combat._

Threat assessment grumbles bitterly in the back of the combatdroid’s processor. Zero ignores it again. Zero can’t wait for the day when he’s less broken than he is.

“Vigilance,” Zero reminds as X rubs the abused spot on his head. “We’ll work on your reaction with hand-to-hand combat for a couple rounds. Enter a stance.”

X purses his lips and takes on what Zero would describe as a stiff spawn between a boxer stance and a L-stance. “Am I doing this right?”

Immediately spotting all the subtle flaws in X’s form, it takes considerable effort on Zero’s part to not scoff aloud. At least this is more evidence of how much of a not-threat the shorter android is.

“Almost.” Zero grasps one of X’s shoulder and further twists X’s upper body, narrowing the shorter robot’s frontal hitbox. He presses the top of the shorter android’s helmet a centimeter lower. “Chin down and move your elbows further apart. Don’t squeeze them too close to your chest. You want them to guard your body. Limit the number of openings at the absolute minimum while maintaining movement freedom.”

Zero circles around and lightly taps X’s heels with his foot. “More weight to the balls of your feet. Staying flat-footed will slow your reaction.”

Circling back to the front, Zero nods once more in approval. “Wire this in. This is one of the most fundamental fighting stances.”

“Got it,” nods X.  

Zero paces to the opposite side of the circle and falls into his own preferred stance. He turns his body away at more than a ninety-degree angle away except for his head, facing resolutely forward at his current target. His front arm lowers protectively over, hovering over his knee, and his back arm is bent and coiled, hand in a fist. 

“What’s that one?” X asks. “I don’t recognize that from the Hunter’s combat archives.”

“This one’s mine. Ideally, I would never be without my weaponry. However, if I’m in a situation where I’m not allowed to, I fall into a defensive, back-long position. This way I can observe my enemy and be ready for a counter-attack.”

It’s also optimized for a swift draw-strike – Zero’s personal ‘iaido’ modified for the saber on his back because honestly, the only circumstance Zero can currently think of in which he would not have a weapon on his person is when he’s terminated. He only said what he told X for the sake of teaching.

Awkwardly, X makes a motion as if to mimic Zero’s stance, but then the warbot sweeps in close and X flinches at the spontaneous movement. X automatically resumes back into his initial position just as Zero throws a swing. It hammers right into X’s shielding forearms. X stumbles half a step, but shakily maintains position.

“Better,” Zero remarks.

X shudders out an exvent. “Glad to see that my combat responsiveness is getting faster.”

“Overall, it’s still slow.” If Zero was operating at half-speed, then the combatdroid would actually be impressed. “We’ll make it faster.”

The first spar ends with Zero punishing X’s inflexibility by dancing behind the rookie and jabbing him in the back. In the second round X gets lighter on his feet, but his unstable balance allows Zero to underhook X’s leg with his own then seamlessly trap the blue robot into a neck crank.

“Avoid being on the ground at all costs,” lectures Zero as X gingerly presses in the bulging wires underneath his neck mesh further in. “If you’re in a fight with multiple assailants, you’re done for. One hostile takes you down and the rest will pile on you.”

“Then what do I do if I have to fight against multiple people?”

“Circling technique. Place yourself in a way that your opponents are lined up. You sense the hostile behind the one right in front of you try to go around and flank you, circle in the same direction. That’s why you have to keep moving…”

Zero suddenly side-dashes and diagonally crosses close, aiming at X’s vulnerable abdomen with his knee.

It goes through air. X has skipped multiple lengths backwards then around the ring until he’s meters away from Zero, upper back hunched and legs posed to leap again, alert.

“Just like that,” the mentor finishes with an approving note.

It continues like this for the next couple of rounds.

There’s something like a rhythm born between him and X: they start, Zero would easily defeat X, point out the mistakes or correct the flaws in X’s form that led to his loss, and repeat. Each time X is slightly better than before, technically becoming more and more of a threat.

Yet Zero doesn’t dislike it. Maybe it's because the Hunter is fulfilling his mission?

 _Yes, that must be it,_ Zero decides.

Also, it may because for all of X’s improvement, he’s still nowhere close to posing as a legitimate danger to the Red Ripper.

Speaking of which...

“You haven’t laid a hit on me yet," Zero prompts. "Come here – we’ll go over some basic parries, blocks and counters you can do.”

Realistically speaking, no Maverick, less alone an Irregular, would engage in a friendly fist fight, hence Zero strictly keeping this to be a short demonstration over the basics. It’s not uncommon for new Hunters to be taken off-guard when their by-the-book training does not easily apply during their first hunt, later winding up in Medbay with an arm gone. 

The goal is for X to actively detect his own weaknesses and seek for opportunities to strike once Zero starts pummeling at him. X will be forced to learn how to adapt before he truly enters the field.

“Return to position!” Zero snaps when X overextends. “Bring your arms straight back in. Don’t curl.”

Zero stomps and X flinches, raising his arms higher to guard an incoming straight, but it’s a feint - the Hunter simply sidesteps and unleashes a ruthless hook at X’s exposed side.

“You can’t stay on the defensive forever,” he says when X hisses, barely saving himself from falling. “If I was holding a gun, you’d be terminated.”

“If we were wielding weapons, I highly doubt we would be engaged in hand-to-hand in the first place,” X mutters offhandedly.

“Even when you’re fighting someone with a gun, you can parry,” says Zero as they resume back in exchanging blows (more accurately, Zero calmly raining down hits at thirty-five percent speed and X barely managing to keep up). “If you don’t have a gun but you need to end the fight asap, you have to get close and disarm the hostile.”

Clapping down a cross, X frowns. “Isn’t that too risky? Depending on the environment, I can do something else. Throw something at the gunman maybe?”

“You can,” agrees Zero. “But you won’t always know what kind of circumstances you’ll be under. If you’re injured, disarmed, and facing your enemy directly, your choices are limited. It’s good to be prepared for every scenario.”

Breaking the rhythm, Zero swiftly kicks X’s shin.

X squawks at the unexpected blow. The corner of the warbot’s lip twitches upward ever so slightly.

“Vigilance,” Zero repeats before driving back in again.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, X is bent over with hands on his knees, eyes glazed over. His ventilations are loud enough for Zero to pick up the sound without paying attention on them. X’s blue armor is laced with thin cuts from the sharp edges of Zero’s pedes and pointed wrist guards, but they’re so shallow that nanites shouldn’t bother with them.

The A-Rank Hunter takes a step back and frowns at the sorry sight. “You’re heating up.”

“I’m just...a little tired,” X forces out between soft exvents.

“Tired?”

Sensing the warbot’s skepticism, X elaborates. “Not tired the way humans do. I’m taking in so much information in such a short amount of time and I’m trying not to short-circuit.”

Zero raises a brow. “You already downloaded a combat archive. If you’re only encoding what we’ve gone over, this shouldn’t be too much to process.” He pauses. “Is your RAM that inefficient?

Perhaps there is a degree of truth to the First being an outdated prototype.

Screwing his eyes shut, the First shakes his head. “I’m fine. I tend to think and analyze too much. Add that on top of all the new things I’m learning, I'm processing a lot.” He snorts. “A friend of mine accuses me of intentionally bringing myself to hyper-info absorption, but I can’t help it. This is how I am.”

The implication displeases Zero. “If you have so much room to think so much while we spar, I’ll raise my output if that’ll aid your focus.”

Fifteen percent more should be sufficient. The panels over Zero’s thrusters open with an inaudible click.

X’s eyes snap open. “What? No, I am focusing.” He lifts his chin to meet the taller android’s gaze. His lips are curved in amusement at some inside joke that the combatdroid isn’t privy to. “Ever since I met you, I never gave you any less than my whole attention, Zero.”

“…I see.”

 _You’re formidable and require constant watch,_ threat assessment interjects but it comes across more as an uncertain suggestion than anything else.

X sighs. “I should have brought a spare E-Tank.”

“Then let’s go to the canteen. You’ll refuel on the go and we’ll return to training,” says Zero, already walking towards the exit.

The tired robot splutters and scrambles hurriedly after his mentor. “On the go? What happened to breaks?”

“Technically it’s not lunch yet. It’s too early.” A good idea strikes Zero. “Actually...it may be optimal to do it this way from now on. There are some spaces within Base that are usually filled with too many people. If we go there during refuel hours, we can take advantage of them.”  

X blinks. “Take advantage of what?”

 

* * *

 

After X gets his E-Tank, Zero guides the blue android down to the first floor and out to the back.

Outside behind the Maverick Hunters Headquarters is a privately owned acre containing a fairly neutral training ground. It’s commonly utilized by humanoids within the average range of height and weight.

Zero walks around towards one end of a sprawling, high-reaching obstacle course that consumes a sizable portion of the field with X following a couple paces behind him. X’s mouth is parted open, taking in the meters tall, angled floating steps, dodging panels, winding tunnels, tailing swing ropes, climbing frames, ditches, corridors, apex ladders, balancing bridges, vault windows, and terrace that are all snaked together in an extremely intricate metal jungle over a sand pit.

“This is amazing,” whispers X in undisguised awe. He winces sympathetically on behalf of what Zero recognizes is a C-Class who miscalculated a hop and clashed their head against the wall of the vault window. 

 _This is nothing,_ Zero keeps to himself dismissively, distantly recalling his first, flawless run on the course. If the warbot had any choice in the design, he’d call for moving lasers, well-positioned high-velocity fans, lubricated surfaces, and other booby traps and inconveniences.  

And spikes at the bottom. Definitely spikes.  

“It seems they’re finishing up. They should be done by lunch,” observes Zero. “Once they clear off, you’re going to start here.” The Hunter points at the starting platform right before the floating steps. “Your goal is to go through the course as fast as possible.”

Features pinched, X tilts his head. ”So speed is the goal? Is there really a point in that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, speed can be manipulated with enhancements. You can equip thrusters and go through this easily. Exercise can’t possibly be the goal either since reploids don’t have real muscles. As long as they're properly fueled, stamina isn’t an issue either.”

“Having the knowledge on how to fight is different from having experience in it,” says Zero. “The same goes for navigating an environment.”

X hums thoughtfully. “That’s true. I can see how newcomers can benefit from this course. However, there’s only so much you can learn from doing this. After a few runs the obstacles will cease to be a challenge.”

Zero nods. “That’s why we’re doing something different.”

“Different? Like what?”

“You’ll see. Now finish refueling.”

X stares at the red clad Hunter for a moment before returning his attention back to the course, sipping his E-Tank obediently. Two pairs of eyes watch a team of reploids arrive to the swing ropes.

After observing each Hunter maintain the arcing momentum of the swing from the ones ahead of them - and the ones who have completed toss the final rope as hard as they can to the ones finishing - X gasps. He lightly pounds one end of a fist into an open palm in gestural realization.

“Of course! How can I be so blind?” X turns to Zero, excited. “Even the simulations can generate obstacles, but they can’t fully immerse multiple people at once. That’s what this is, right? It’s teamwork! Does that mean…I’ll be going through this with you?”

The sheer exuberance X radiates from the prospect of cooperating with Zero catches the warbot off-guard. It’s like looking at the emotional embodiment of the sun.

“No. You’re doing this alone,” Zero replies bluntly.

As soon as it came, the enthusiasm flushes out of X.

Zero is confused. Does X find teamwork to be that exciting? Why?

Fritz, it can’t be that friendship nonsense again...is it?

“So what are we actually going to do then?” asks X a tad dejected and once again, Zero finds himself reluctantly fascinated by X’s very human expressiveness.

In his peripheral vision, the warbot sees the last participant leap off the terrace and rejoins the rest of their group. He grunts,” You’re up,” determinedly not answering the question.

Nodding, X hops up to the elevated platform, gazing upon the course laid out before him.

“I don’t understand but…this could be fun.” He stretches his arms out wide as if to hug the cloudless sky. “It’s such a nice day out too.” 

Refocusing, Zero mentally prepares a timer.

“On the count of three, start running,” he announces. “One…”

The combatdroid slowly reaches a hand to his hip.

”Two…”

Catching on the subtle movement, X shoots a curious glance at Zero. Green eyes bulge beneath the azure helmet.

“Zero?”

“Three."

The warbot calmly whips out a Maverick-Hunter issued gun and shoots at X’s head.


End file.
